Of Moths and Butterflies
by JessicaJ
Summary: Someone had told her once, that moths were more beautiful that butterflies. But life is about learning. Update: Epilogue posted 03/2013 Will things remain the same, now the threat of the apocalypse has gone?
1. At the Gold Saucer

Call me weird, but Moths and Butterflies are a small delight that I enjoy from time to time, though I have to say, I'm of Vincent's opinion in this little fic. A little implied romance, and I wouldn't call it fluff.

Enjoy, and review. (Revised March 2013)

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**Of Moths and Butterflies**

**I. At the Gold Saucer**

Someone had told her once, that moths were more beautiful that butterflies. As a child, whose mind was generally only capable of generalisations, she thought they'd been wrong. Butterflies were creatures of the day, gentle, all colours of the spectrum, unable to incite fear into anyone. But moths belonged to the night. She associated darkness with negative things; monsters, evil, the unknown. They were ugly. Nowhere near as majestic, or beautiful as the butterfly.

The adult of Tifa Lockheart was stood by the monorail in the Gold Saucer, the screech of steel on steel sounding in the distance, as she waited for Cloud, Yuffie and Aeris to disembark the roller coaster. She'd not really felt like it; something to do with her stomach and having only just recently eaten.

The night was cool, and she found herself wishing she'd brought a jacket along; her breath rose in a fine mist before her face, and she stamped her feet to keep the blood rushing to her extremities.

"Cold?" She whirled around to face the source of the voice, and finding Vincent, the newest member of Avalanche, stood behind her. His eyebrow was raised; something he seemed to perpetually do whenever he was around her, and he was offering her his jacket. She smiled, taking it tentatively.

"It's a little cooler than I expected," She admitted.

"I should be glad to leave this place." He eyed the garish lights with distaste, and she noted how the play of the neon lights on his pale skin made him appear sickly. "I dislike the noises."

"It's not exactly my idea of a break, either." She laughed, turning, inviting him to walk with her. He walked beside her in silence for a while, a living enigma in black, as they approached the stairs which would take them to other locations in the park. "Where to?"

"I would suggest somewhere quiet, though I fear that would be too much to ask." She laughed again, pleased to see that he was able to muster at least a half-smile. "Perhaps somewhere with less harsh lighting?"

"Again, I don't think you're going to get that here. Um… oh, hang on…"

She dragged him by his sleeve towards the staircase on the right, which bore a sign directing them towards a bar that had recently opened in the park. "A bar?" His brow piqued again.

"I'm thinking low lighting and perhaps tasteful music."

"A wise decision."

They descended the dark stair well, greeted by silence for a moment as the brick walls cut off the background sounds of the park around them. As Tifa had estimated, the bar was lit in amber and red, gentle mood music playing over the speakers. "How's this?"

"Perfect."

They settled in a booth in the corner, and she felt comfortable enough in the climate controlled space to remove Vincent's jacket. A candle flickered in the centre of the table, illuminating their little space in a bubble of amber. Vincent had closed his eyes, head resting back against the booth, exhaling slowly.

"Why I never found this earlier…" She muttered to herself, stretching out a little in her seat.

"I was starting to contract a headache." He told her, pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. "Thank you for rescuing me."

She chuckled a little, ordering two glasses of red wine from the waitress who had made her way over to their table. She said nothing for a moment, taking the opportunity to examine her companion, while his eyes were closed. She didn't really know that much about him; he rarely spoke, though she probably was one of the only people to have had prolonged contact with him, if it could be called such.

He was pale, his hair a direct contrast to his skin, a shock of black strands that all seemed to be a different length. His nose was straight and narrow, though a tiny bump half way along the bridge lead her to belief that perhaps it had been broken, at one time. He had a sensitive mouth, currently pulled into a thin line, and long dark eye lashes, casting shadows on his fair cheeks.

The waitress returned, setting their wine before them, bowing her head respectfully as she departed. His delicate fingers pinched the stem of the glass, bringing it up to his lips and taking a sip.

"Not bad."

"I never drink wine, usually." She stared into the bottom of her glass, swirling the ruby liquid around, the candle light bouncing off the turbulent surface. She was reminded of Vincent's eyes. "I had you down as the sort who would appreciate a good vintage."

He gave a snort of derision, setting his glass down carefully, gracing her with a true smile. "Indeed? Interesting, what stereotypes you have. "

She flushed a little under his gaze, scowling at his flippancy. "Well, speculation is all I have, I'm afraid. I don't know you that well."

"Touché." He regarded his folded hands carefully. "Forgive me, I am used to finding solace in solitude. I have much to learn about company, especially the kind you keep."

"Are we that… bad?" She blanched at her fail at articulacy. Whenever he spoke she was always mindful of how eloquent he was. It made her self-conscious that her slum years might have detracted from her Nibel Education.

"I find your company to be pleasing." He flicked his eyes up to meet hers, fingertips flexing on the table top. "You seem to try your best to engage me. I wonder, why try so hard?"

She shrugged. "I just… I always have. I guess I just expect people to be just as open as I am. I forget that not everyone is like me, at times. So you'll have to forgive me."

He half shrugged, head tilted to one side, eyes gazing behind her, out of the window. "Now, that you don't see often."

She pivoted in her seat, eyes whirling around to find the source of interest; a large black and white butterfly was crawling across the window pane, though it seemed to be having difficultly, slipping down a few inches every so often.

"A butterfly? What is it doing inside? Aren't they only about in the day?"

"It's not a butterfly," He stated, kneeling on the seat to lean over, and cup his hands around the creature. She averted her body slightly, curled fingertips clutching her chin. "It's a moth." He stared through the gaps in his fingertips, before seating himself again. "Look." He opened his hands, and the creature stood still, as if it wanted its beauty to be fully appreciated.

Black and white patterned wings, intricate circles and lines made by tiny little hairs along the surface of her wings. Her legs were hairy, too, and she had two black eyes, below twitching antennae. "You can tell by how they fold their wings. The fold downwards, not outwards, like butterflies."

"She's… cute." Tifa admitted, examining her funny little insect face, and the strange projections from her antennae. "These are different…"

"Butterfly antennae are clubbed. Moths are kind of… feathers."

"How do you know all this stuff?" She grinned, looking up from his palm to realise she was leaning a little closer than she had intended. His eyes were striking in this lighting, pools of dark red, unfathomably deep. She drew back a little, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear defensively.

"When I was little I used to catch them, using a lamp and box." A reminiscent haze descended upon his face. "Then I'd draw them for my mother. She used to put them up on the wall, in her study."

"I always thought moths were ugly; you know, all blacks, greys and browns."

"Well, you'd be wrong." He cupped the moth in his hands again, shuffling out of his seat to set her free out of an open window. Tifa watched her flutter away into the night. "Where I grew up, the moths were probably just as beautiful as the butterflies; Bigger, and more colourful. I once caught a Luna moth." He smiled a little to himself, standing by the window, gazing out onto a scene that she couldn't see.

"Wow. Sounds like I missed out." She stood to join him, passing him his temporarily forgotten glass of wine. "I'd love to see more of them."

"Maybe if we ever pass through the plains of Wutai, I… I could show you."

She hid her smile of triumph in her wine glass as she took another mouthful, swirling in around her tongue, enjoying the flavours. "I'd like that very much. It's nice to know that all things that come out of the darkness won't frighten me."

There went that eyebrow again."I didn't think there could be much that would frighten _you_."

"Oh, there are lots of things." Too many to mention in fact. Before now, one of those things had been him. She'd known there was something underlying, something… different about him, when they'd found him in the ShinRa basement. Tonight, though, she'd seen a different side of him; a side that smiled of memories of childhood, a part that spoke with enthusiasm, a part that laughed and smiled.

Moths weren't always scary, or boring. And they were just as beautiful as butterflies.

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_Revised March 2013. JJ_


	2. The Plains of Wutai

This one is for Forevermare, who it seems loves Moths and all things six-legged, like I do! Please leave me a review, people.

Just a little more back story for Vincent.

(Revised March 2013)

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**II. The Plains of Wutai**

Months had passed since that night in the Gold Saucer, a tiny event which served as a small insight into a mystery. Still, she knew little about Vincent, and the unfurling of events of late had prevented her from exploring her curiosities further. Since his strange encounter with the spectral woman in the cave, he had perhaps become more withdrawn than before.

Upon arrival in Wutai Tifa sensed some change had occurred within him, as if he was struggling to recall a feeling of familiarity. Of course, he had mentioned he'd grown up here, however many years ago. She could well relate to returning to a hometown you didn't, or at least shouldn't recognise.

"Is it how you remembered?" She inquired softly upon reaching Vincent's side. He says nothing for a moment so she simply stands a respectful distance to his right, following his line of vision. The city looked so wonderful with the red roof tops gleaming in the dying sunlight. It lay like a pool of rubies in the valley, sliced in half by the glittering river. Soon, the sun would sink beyond the horizon over the western sea, and hundreds of tiny lanterns will be lit, bobbing in the gentle breeze.

"It is exactly how I remembered." His reply is delayed, and she almost forgot that she had spoken at all. "Odd."

"I guess their resisting ShinRa had something to do with it, right?" She steals a glance up at him. His skin is resplendent in the golden sunset, irises set alight in the most breath-taking way. She wondered how hard Cid would laugh if he could read her thoughts.

"Perhaps."

Behind them, Cloud shouts a signal to continue heading towards town, to get out of the grass lands before dark. Their conversation successfully killed, Tifa huffs and tramps back to join the group, irked that she had lost another opportunity to prod their most elusive and introverted comrade.

-0-

The rest of the evening passed without circumstance. Yuffie sought out her father and introduced him to her new-found comrades. Consequently they were provided with rather luxurious lodgings for as long as they should require them. Secretly Tifa wished she could delay Cloud as long as possible; Wutai seemed like the kind of place she could immerse herself in. She had long dreamed of visiting Wutai, and felt that it was a shame that she would probably not get to experience all its wonders in their short stay.

After a banquet of wonderful food and a long soak in the bathhouse with Yuffie and some of her female relatives, Tifa settled herself into her futon for the night, smiling serenely at the chirrup of cicadas outside of the paper screens leading out onto her own private moon-viewing pavilion. She would like to be able to get used to this, though she knew full well there wasn't much point.

A polite tap at her door disturbed her decadent mental wanderings. "Yes?" She had an inclination it might be Yuffie. The little ninja, as tom-boyish as she was, often craved female company at times. To her surprise though, it was a male voice that addressed her.

Scrambling out of the sheets with difficulty due to the silk of the provided night clothes, she slide the screen open. "Vincent?"

Pools of burgundy regarded her somewhat reservedly. "I did not wake you?"

"No, not at all. I was just thinking really…" She inwardly scolded herself for her inarticulacy.

"So was I. I wondered if… you would like to join me for a walk."

She raised her brows, her lips parting softly in wake of her surprise. "Now?" He nodded rigidly. "Well, alright just give me a few minutes. I'll meet you by the pond?" She saw one dark brow vanish into the shade of his ever-present bandana.

"Very well." He retreated, capeless-ness duly noted, and she slid the screen door shut once more. A walk? And what's more, alone with _Vincent_? Cid's image presented itself uninvited into her mind, chiding her for wandering out after dark with the 'vampire-like ex-Turk', to use his words. Smirking, she slid out of the silk garb, the fabric swishing to the tatami matting, before she began to search for clothing much more suited to outdoor wear.

-0-

Knowing full well that she had taken more than a few minutes, she hurried her steps through the palace halls, trying her best not to make her foot falls loud. The soft Wutaiin shoes aiding her flight, she finally passed out into the gardens, hoping that he had not given up and gone on without her.

She sighed with relief to find his imposing figure stood over the mirror-like surface of the pond. All she had managed to find to wear was a simple starched cotton qipao with long sleeves and some tailored pants, though she did feel a little foolish, still. That was until she noticed that he also wore something similarly unfamiliar, though due to it being black, she hadn't noticed it right away.

"They took your clothes to the laundry, too?" She nodded at his cotton silk-buttoned shirt with the high collar.

"It was either surrender them up or be stripped naked; The women of Yuffie's household are very insistent."

Tifa's burst of laughter was spasmodic and clear, ringing out into the night. "I wasn't too keen on the idea myself. As much as I love all the beautiful fabric here I just… I can't help but feel like I don't belong in them."

Matching his somewhat leisurely pace, they walked together out of the gates of the Kisaragi familial grounds and started upon the path into the town. From the crest of the hill, Tifa could see lanterns glowing, bobbing in the gentle breeze which carried with it the scents of the street vendors from the markets below.

"Is it good to be home?" She asked after a few minutes of amicable silence, glancing over at her companion. He was perhaps as relaxed as she'd ever seen him, ruby eyes drinking in Wutai as they walked. His pale skin was smooth, unmarred by a frown, nor graced with a smile. With his cloak absent she could appreciate a strong jaw, and a sensitive mouth. He had tied his hair back too, probably to better cope with the heat. She was struck suddenly by the affirmation that Vincent was incredibly handsome. Who knew?

"I'll admit that it is. I had feared to find it different to how I remembered it. After all, thirty years or so have gone by since I was last here."

"And it hasn't changed in all that time?" She should have known he would detect the pain in her tone. His eyes snapped to meet hers, and he looked almost horror-struck, by his standards. That meant a slight inward pull of his bottom lip, a delicately creased brow… She shouldn't really examine him so closely.

"I did not mean to remind you of Nibelheim."

Tifa shook her head, smiling all the same. "It's alright, Vincent. I let go of home a long time ago."

"As did I."

They walked in silence for a while longer, following Vincent's direction to the still-bustling market square. It was hours past sundown, and still vendors called out to passers-by, proclaiming their wares. Of course, Tifa could not make out one word from another; the rich Wutaiinese dialect was intelligible to her, yet still she found it enjoyable to listen to. Only after Vincent had rebuked a particularly desperate salesman did it occur to her that Vincent was privy to their language.

"What did he say?" She glanced back with interest at the merchant, a middle-aged man missing several teeth, who was laughing openly in the street at Vincent's retreating back.

"Nothing," He muttered, pressing forward at a slightly faster pace.

Deciding it was best to let the matter lie, she followed him around the market, content to examine the wares that she passed on display. All that she saw was beautiful; from the bolts of silk, so elegant to both sight and touch, to the orchids and the handmade dolls that she knew Marlene would ador… yet she purchased nothing. Many things were far too bulky to carry, and she did not know if she would have use for them, in the end. Sighing, she let her hand fall from where it had been wondrously fingering the exquisite embroidery of a silk bolt. Turning, she scanned the street for Vincent.

It took her only a few moments to spot him, stood by a stall and pointing to one of the glowing lanterns draped along the roadside. She watched as the vendor pressed a folded one into his hands, and as Vincent handed over gil in exchange. "What's this for?"

He smiled softly, a smile that she suspected would normally be invisible, hidden behind scarlet fabric. "You'll see."

Pointedly ignoring her questions, he bought rice paper from another stall, and charcoal from another. Only then did she recall what he had told her, months before.

_Maybe if we ever pass through the plains of Wutai, I… I could show you._

"Vincent…" They had reached the city gates, where before them stretched the vast wilderness of the Wutai plains. He stopped, that half-smile adorning his lips again.

"You aren't worried are you?"

Her hands went to her hips. "You know I'm not scared of the dark."

"… but what it hides, yes, I remember. Don't worry, I did not come unprepared." The glint of Death Penalty at his side reaffirms his statement.

"Well in that case… let's go catch moths!" Grinning, probably like an idiot, she set of at a trot out of the gates, dew-kissed grass dampening her shoes almost instantly.

"You remembered?" Faint surprise arched his brows upward, and placed a dancing light in his irises.

"Of course." She was glad it was dark; why the hell was she blushing?

For a while they just walked on, the song of crickets serving to blanket the silence. She hadn't been this relaxed in a long while, she was fairly certain, craning her neck to look up at the stars. The heavens truly did smile down on Wutai. After five minutes, with the town gates a good distance behind, Vincent stopped. They were close to a wooded area, the gentle breeze rustling in and out of the leaves. "This should be far enough." He said, lowering himself to the ground and sitting cross legged. Were it not for the stars, she wouldn't be able to see him.

"I'll get a wet backside," she muttered, seating herself across from him regardless.

"The dark will hide that," He remarked, otherwise intent on carefully unfolding his recently procured paper lantern. She chuckled. Who would have known there was a sense of humour beneath the shroud of mystery?

The stiff paper popped and crinkled. Once it was fully opened up, he pulled a small candle from his pocket, followed by a tiny box of matches. She suspected that a certain pilot would be patting his pockets any time soon. A loud scratch and flame burst into light, followed by the lingering scent of sulphur. Vincent's pale face was cast into strange, flickering shadow as he carefully reached in and lit the tiny candle within the paper sphere, withdrawing his hand and shaking out the flame once the wick had caught. She glanced up at him, wondering exactly what it was they were supposed to do next. She guessed that they would just sit and wait, though she wasn't keen on carrying out their strange night-time vigil in silence.

"Yuffie didn't seem too keen to be home, did she?" She ventured, wrapping her arms around her knees. Of course the ninja had seemed somewhat irked to be hanging around; Odd, considering her eagerness to lead them here. Tifa smelled a rat, no mistake.

"No doubt she has her reasons. Though I have to admit, it's… wonderful to be back here, after so many years. I had almost forgotten what it felt like."

"To have a home, you mean? I forgot what _that_ felt like a long time ago." She wasn't looking at him then; otherwise she might have seen the soft, almost tender smile that he directed at her. Her cheek was resting upon her knees, soft amber eyes gazing across the plain which they had recently crossed to the golden lights of the imperial city of Wutai. It truly was magnificent to behold in the darkness, lights bobbing like a million tiny fireflies. With the aid of his enhanced eyesight he could pick out the lights flickering in the temples, high up in the mountains of Dao Chao.

"Where did you live, when you were here?" Her eyes returned to him, her expression still as pensive.

"It is difficult to tell; Wutai has grown so much since I was last here. I left when I was seventeen with all my dreams and hopes, heading out to the big city. Much has changed in over forty years…" He paused, staring out and over the city, as she had done.

She appreciated the soft play of candle light upon his face, highlighting a strong jaw, and sharp cheekbones. He truly was beautiful to look upon. She felt lucky to see him without his cape on. Aeris would surely have like to hear about this; she too would enjoy poking the gunslinger's bubble once in a while. It was a task they sometimes undertook together.

"Perhaps I could remember, if I walked the streets again. My old house was not a stone's throw from the pier. If you were stood on the roof that is. The streets were so narrow and winding, houses built so close together and on top of one another…. My sister and I would play hide and seek for hours."

"You had a sister?" Tifa raised her head, hopeful.

"Yes. Her name was Xiaoxin. She was seven years younger than I."

"Shi-ow-shin? Hm… That is very typical of a Wutaiin name, isn't it? Tell me, where did 'Vincent' come from?"

"Xiaoxin was my mother's daughter with her second husband. My father died. He lived here as part of the foreign embassy, making me half-Wutaiin." That explained why she hadn't seen the Western continent in him straight away, then. "I was given my grand-father's name, from my father's side. I do have a Wutaiin name, though nobody ever used it."

"Is your sister still alive? She would not be terribly old, would she?"

"I…" He bowed his head. "My sister was not a healthy girl. She died when she was six following a particularly harsh winter."

His brow furrowed and he stared intently at the lantern, as though it were of sudden great interest to him. "Oh, I'm so sorry, Vincent. That's terrible."

"Mother was devastated. Her health started to decline then, in the years that followed. We moved out of the city and into a village out in the plains, but that did little to alleviate her pain. She passed three winters later. My step-father could no longer tie me here, so that was when I left."

"Do you know what became of him?"

"No. We were not close. He would be in his eighties now, most likely. He could well still be here."

They fell silent for a time, the hum of the crickets a comforting buzz in the background. Vincent swallowed down a strange nervousness. It had been too long since he had spoken of his family and his home, too long since he had seen the familiar flowers and the houses, and smelled the rich scents of his homeland. It felt good—cathartic somehow.

"Oh, look!" Tifa suddenly whispered excitedly, the grass shifting beneath her as she inched closer to the lantern. A moth much larger than she had ever seen the likes of before had come to rest on their paper lantern, silk-paper wings quivering and tiny furry antennae twitching. It was difficult to make out the colouring in the low lighting, though Tifa could admit that she had never seen a butterfly as vibrant.

"Well I thought we'd have to be pretty lucky to see one of these tonight. A luna moth!"

She could hear the smile in his voice. "It's beautiful- And so big!"

"They can grow much larger than this, too."

Carefully, he reached out, slipping cool, pale fingers beneath the moth's furry body. Tifa almost gasped aloud when it did not flutter away into the night at the sudden intrusion of human contact. Instead, it seemed to bumble elegantly forwards onto his outstretched palm. In the shifting angle of light, she could fully appreciate the emerald panels that adorned its magnificent wings. She could see each of the intricate purple hairs that covered its legs and body. Its downcast wings tapered off at the end into a point, and upon the pale turquoise panels were darker, spherical eyespots.

With the eagerness of a child she reached for the paper and charcoal Vincent has bought from the vendors, and tried her utmost to sketch an accurate outline, though her hands, hardened from countless battles, seemed poorly adapted to guiding a pencil with elegance. The graceful, sweeping lines she envisioned in her mind turned out clumsy and over-curved. She quickly got frustrated, as her subject seemed reluctant to linger for long for her to draw it.

"You must have gotten a lot of practice at drawing quickly," She remarked with a huff, the shadow of the moth's wings passing out of their sphere of light.

"A photogtraphic memory helps," He told her, his mouth turned up at the corners as he watched her frown down at her paper.

"It looks more like a damn bird than a moth," She muttered to herself, squinting in the dim light at her crude sketch, which was turning out to be a total failure. She raised her eyes to her companion, who was busy sketching away, his paper propped up on his raised knees. She could not see his attempt. "How is your moth picture coming along?" She asked, somewhat insecurely.

He only smiled enigmatically, flicking his gaze upward now and again before he touched charcoal to paper. "Well enough."

She soon found she had new subjects to attempt, with much smaller moths dancing about the lantern, attracted by the flame. None proved to be as a good as subject as the luna moth, and her charcoal stick was thick and somewhat clumsy. Periodic glances at Vincent revealed that he seemed to be using his fingertips to smudge the thick lines his charcoal created. All of her smudges had been accidental ones, and left the sides of her palms blackened, much to her frustration. She had never really been artistic in this sense.

Ah well. Her mother had taught her that she could not excel at everything, even if she tried her hardest, and to graciously complement others for their work, so as not to appear jealous or jaded.

Though it seemed Vincent wasn't up for comparing work.

"You can't still be drawing the moth," She ejaculated suddenly, scrambling onto her knees, trying to peer over his legs at his canvas.

"I found a more… interesting subject, let's say."

"You've been at that same picture forever!" His eyebrows shot up, ruby eyes fixed upon her in wonder. Then, much to her surprise, he started to laugh. His smiles were rare enough, and so she didn't quite know what to make of his mirth, considering it was most definitely directed at her. "What's so funny?" She huffed, feeling foolish.

"I apologise. You reminded me of Xiaoxin. She would get angry, too, when she couldn't draw." His eyes were afire, gleaming beautifully as he laughed.

"Hey, I can draw alright enough. Buy you've given me this… hunk of rock to draw with-" His laugh intensified, and he clutched at his side. "Stop laughing! There's only one way to settle this—show me your stupid picture."

"Alright, Tifa. Here."

Silently now, he swapped his paper with hers. Her indignance vanished instantly, her brow gently creasing as she examined his drawing, careful not to smudge the charcoal lines so tenderly drawn. Upon the paper was a woman, features half cast in shadow, a dark swell around her almost enveloping her fragile form. The points at which light touched her face and form were left white, as well as a central globe—the lantern—that radiated rays of white. He had captures her stance perfectly; the curve of her spine, arched over her paper, the highlights of her cheekbones and forehead. Her cascade of hair was a swirl of grey, white and black, one with both the shadow and the light. It separated her from and yet joined her to the darkness around her.

"You drew…. Me?"

"I said I had found a more interesting subject."

She swallowed back a thickness in her throat. "It is wonderful. You truly have a talent for drawing."

"Thank you. Your picture of the moth is also… very well done." She threw her charcoal stick at him.

"Asshole."

-0-

The city had quietened somewhat upon their return. Stalls stood empty now, the vendors having long returned home with their wares. The river babbled as it flowed over stones at the shallow parts, whispering underneath the bridges. In her hands she carried the expired lantern and the rolled up picture that Vincent had given to her. He carried her crudely drawn moth which she had given to him in return, though not before severely beating him about the head with the rolled up parchment, much to his mirth.

The moon was a slender crescent in the blackened skies, surrounded by clusters of stars. She had only seen a more beautiful sky in Cosmo Canyon.

Her footsteps were carrying her back to the imperial palace of their own volition, though she stalled when she realised that Vincent was no longer following behind. She turned, and found that he had stopped in the centre of the bridge she had just crossed, peering over the edge into the water, features set in contemplation. She backtracked, resting her elbows on the painted red wood of the bridges railing. "What's wrong?"

"Xiaoxin and I would play on these bridges." He said simply. "She loved this river. We would always watch the koi swimming here, and if we were lucky, father would buy food for us to feed them with."

"I'm sorry, Vincent. I can't imagine how hard it must be for you, coming back here after so long. But-" Tifa's hands were behind her back, her foot tapping, something she did when she was thinking up a plan. He half turned from his position leaned on the rail, a half-smile on his face.

"What is it?"

"We could set this onto the river- You know, light a light for her, so she knows you are thinking about her." Tifa had unfolded the lantern, and had opened her palm, twitching her fingers expectantly for the matches. He pressed them into her hand, watching her with interest as she struck one, and reached inside to relight the wick of the candle. "Ready?"

"Yes."

"For Xiaoxin." Tifa handed him the glowing paper orb, and muttering a Wutaiinese prayer, he let if drift down onto the surface of the water below where it floated, drifting on downstream. It would float for several leagues before reaching the sea.

"We should probably head back. If anyone has noticed we are missing…" He watched his feet move as they walked on and away from the bridge.

"So? We were just out walking. We chanced upon each other in the night-" She embellished their tale, trying her best to bring him cheer, after what she must imagine had been a difficult day for him altogether. He wouldn't let her know it, but in fact he had had one of the best days he'd had since his awakening, perhaps even well before that, too. "—and the night was so beautiful, we just lost track of time." She finished with an overacted sigh. He smiled, something he hadn't been able to prevent himself from doing tonight.

"Well, here we are." She stopped once inside the palace gardens. The women's quarters faced east, the men's were to the south. "I will probably see you in the morning, then."

"In the morning," He nodded, suddenly aware of the crickets resonant chirping from the gardens. Somewhere, water bubbled in a stream, and the blossom trees swayed in a sudden gust, sprinkling them with white blossom.

"Thank you for tonight, Vincent," She half-turned after taking a few steps toward the buildings. "It's been nice, getting to know you."

"The sentiment is mutual. I would be glad to say we were friends, one day."

She chuckled, shaking her head. He saw that there was blossom caught in her hair. "One day? I will look forward to it."

She turned again for the final time, unable to rid the smile from her lips. What a strange evening it had turned out to be, though it had taken away more cares and stressed than she even knew. The joys of simply getting to know someone, without pressure or duress, had almost seemed forgotten to her.

The return leg of her journey was as unhindered as before, and she released a sigh of relief upon re-entering her room once more. She removed her borrowed, unfamiliar garments and slipped the silk nightdress over her head. Giving herself a once over in the mirror revealed the errant blossom petals caught in her hair. Tutting, she reached for a comb and began to tease in though her hair, freeing them from her locks.

As she placed the comb down, she was suddenly struck by something. Her wizard bangle was lying on the dresser. She had definitely not left in there, she was almost positive. Ribbon remained tight around her arm; she learned long ago that it was best to not travel anywhere without it. Reaching for the small drawer in her dresser where she had stashed Premium Hearts, she sighed upon finding them there, exactly where she had left them. Then her gasp sounded loud and clear.

Slamming the drawer shut, her heart racing in her chest, she turned and exited the room, not caring to slide the screen door shut again. Her bare feet whispered on the tatami mats as she swept along corridors and down steps, across courtyards and over miniature bridges. She started upon spotting a shadow moving behind a screen, though she relaxed upon seeing it was Vincent who turned the corner. His shirt was half open, and in his hand he clutched the shining silver Peacemaker handgun. He only barely acknowledged her in her sweeping nightgown of rich purple and indigo silk.

"We have a problem."

"Your material has been taken, also?" His eyes darted around, wide and watchful. "We should wake Cloud," Vincent turned around and headed back down the corridor from where he had come, with Tifa following him. She felt rather conscious of her state of dress, though curious of Vincent's.

She cursed, suddenly realising that she hadn't seen the damned ninja-princess all day. "I knew Yuffie was up to something…"

-0-

A/N: I just wanted to continue this little oneshot. I've noticed LOADS of people favouriting old stories of mine, since I recently published a new one. While this is great, there aren't that many reviewers considering, so please leave me some feedback, guys! Feed the hungry author, and I shall in turn provide my magical words that you seem to like so much. Or at least I hope you like them!

(Updated March 2013)


	3. Timing

For Forevermare

It's been a while I know, but If you knew how busy I've been! New home, no new job _yet_, and not much spare time for writing. Lack of creativity doesn't help either, but well, this has been sitting around unfinished for a while, without a clear finishing point in sight. Hopefully, I have done it justice.

Please review, and it might be worth re-reading parts 1 and 2, they aren't as long as this part. Just to refresh your memories!

(Updated March 2013)

-0-

Now I am strong,

you gave me all,

you gave all you had,

and now I am home.

My love, look what you can do,

I am mending, I'll be with you.

Sia- My Love

-0-

**III. Timing **

The room was fairly empty, devoid of any effectual objects which might define it as being inhabited by someone; yet perhaps this feature alone indicated the room belonged to Vincent. Tifa found she was holding her breath, suddenly frightened that she might be discovered encroaching upon another's sacred territory. She'd never been to his room before, whether here on the Highwind, or in an Inn or hostel.

Why had she chosen to disturb his sporadically inhabited space now?

Outside the window, the skies had long darkened. If she chose this moment to gaze out, she wouldn't be able to make out the figure of the man she had left out there, not moments ago; Out of sight, but not out of mind. Sighing heavily, she forgot her strong sense of guilt upon entering Vincent's chamber and seated herself at the edge of the bed, disturbing the neatly made sheets.

What the hell had she been thinking?

Months had passed since Wutai. The materia that had been lost to them had since been reclaimed, and her secret shared only with Vincent, stayed so; filed away within her self along with the rest of her skeletons and shames.

No-one in their group of comrades was aware of the agreed friendship between them, and it was only in times of reflection did she find reason to acknowledge it. The myriad of chaos and definitive events that had taken place since that night in Wutai, the calm before the storm, had robbed her of any sense of togetherness, any notion of hope. A feeling that would never, she feared, be restored. She was surrounded by those she called friends, and yet, she felt more isolated than ever. The world was going to end, and all that they had left to achieve before watching the final sequences of the apocalypse take place was eliminate Sephiroth.

And now, sat in Vincent's cabin aboard the Highwind, that time had at last come. When the day dawned, they would enter the crater.

So what the hell was she doing here, alone?

_-6 days ago- _

Everything she had feared had been confirmed. This was it. The rocket hadn't worked, much to Cid's fury, and their doom had never seemed as absolute as now. Yet strangely, out wandering in the Red Rock Valley surrounding Cosmo Canyon, Tifa felt calm. The desert wind blasted her with dry heat, her boots and skin ruddied by the red dusts kicked up as she walked. Yuffie had tried to accompany her on her walk, though she had declined, then rebuffed her offer.

She wanted to be alone.

It was most likely a foolhardy idea; The Red Valley was dangerous place to wander, even in groups. She found herself not caring, even laughing at the prospect of danger. What did it matter, she scoffed at Cloud, if she were to die? It would only rob her of a few days of life left, at best. Privately she thought it would even be the preferable way to go. At least she would have been ready for it, in the heat of a fight. She couldn't fathom how she would feel, stood facing her final foe, that which would ultimately end her, and be helpless against it.

The sandy-gravel crunched underfoot as she wandered aimlessly, squinting in the glaring sun. Her skin was tanning, though she had not noticed. Her face had started to freckle across the bridge of her nose, and her cheeks had begun to pink. But she had not noticed. She barely saw her own reflection any more.

She stopped at last, having reached a sort of summit of her climb. Before her stretched the full expanse of the Red Valley, afire in the evening sun; behind her, nestled into the rock face, stood Cosmo Canyon. The locals were going to throw a huge party, to welcome the death of the earth; A strange, oxymoron celebration that she wanted no part in. She couldn't face the masses of people, welcoming the death of the earth, a cleansing of life, so that another world can burst into existence elsewhere. Stars die, and are reborn constantly, Red XIII told her. Why should planets not do the same, he asked her?

…Because it wasn't ready. Death had been summoned out of the skies. Gaia wasn't ready. _She_ wasn't ready, Damn it! Fury making her blood boil, she reached for the nearest rock at her feet and hurled it as far as she could over the ledge and into the valley. She could not track its full trajectory, for her tears blurred her vision, gold light searing onto the back of her retinas.

"I'm not ready…" She whispered, shoulders jarring with her ragged inhalations. Throwing herself down into the dust, she thrust her face into her knees and hid away from the sunlight behind her hair. It was too beautiful to look at, and it reminded her of everything she stood to leave behind.

What good was love, honour, and friendship, if was all to be erased from memory, from all known existence?

"I thought I might find you out here."

She whirled around suddenly to view her pursuer. No longer protected by the shield of her hair, the sun's intruding glare and her tear-filled eyes serving to impede her vision. Still, that voice could only belong to one.

"What do _you_ want." She muttered, abandoning her hunched position, choosing instead to go on staring into the sun.

"So we aren't friends today, I see." His boots scuffed the earth, scraping in the gravel as he kicked somewhat distractedly at the ground at her side.

"Vincent…." Her apology caught in her throat.

"It's alright." From the corner of her eye she could tell he had chosen to leave his cape back at the canyon. The lack of a glint of gold also told her he had also neglected his gauntlet, tonight. Significant, somewhat, seeing as the last time had been Wutai.

Something inside her seemed to shift, the tears suddenly pouring fourth, and she was powerless to stop them. The last time she had felt like this, her town stood in ashes at her feet, her home a smouldering pile of rubble.

"I can't… I ca-n't…" She tried to tell him that she couldn't help it, that she didn't meant to cry like this, though all excuses were lost to her as cool fingers find hers.

"It's alright." He repeated, this time softly, stepping only a little closer. "You don't have to justify how you feel."

She clutched tightly at his hand, apparently willingly given, as if it would somehow save her from drowning in her own grief and confusion. "I… Vin-cen-t…" She could barely articulate anything between her sobs, and her throat was starting to burn, denying her the air she so desperately needed.

She was hyperventilating.

Before she knew it, she was being pulled against his chest, his arms locked around her small frame, holding her tightly, instructing her to breathe. A simple order, and yet her body didn't seem to want to comply at once. Only his soothing words and the steady rise and fall of his chest against her body worked to calm her.

Her breathing normal again, her tears blasted dry upon her pinking cheeks, she stood still, her face turned into his chest. "I'm not ready…" She told him softly, curling into his hold. "I can't do this… I'm not… I'm not strong enough."

"Listen to me, Tifa," His strong hands gripping tightly at her shoulders, he pulled back to stare openly into her face. "You are the strongest woman I've ever had the pleasure to know. Without you… we wouldn't have made it this far." She scoffed, but his stare sobered her. "_I_ wouldn't have made it, for one. Many times I've wanted to turn back, once Hojo was killed. I had no purpose; I had no reason to go on anymore."

"But you didn't leave…" She half-smiled, reaching to tuck stray hair behind her ears.

"No, I didn't; because there was you. You were always so strong, no matter what, and I knew I couldn't quit. I didn't give up for you, so don't give up for me. You are going to face this." She stared at him hard for a few moments, not daring to believe she could see a glimmer in those usually hard ruby eyes.

With his cloak gone, she found herself appreciating his features all over again; his strong jaw, high cheekbones and that sensitive, full mouth, bottom lip sucked in as he fretted, brows pulled together slightly. Smiling gently, she reached up tentatively to smooth out his frown, trailing her fingertips down the side of his face to his mouth. Vincent Valentine was a complicated yet beautiful man; a complex patchwork of metal, raven hair and pale skin. Not to mention those ruby eyes which she noticed seemed to shift colours from time to time. Right now, they were amber, shot through with golden hues.

He was right, she knew. She couldn't give up. She couldn't let the others down, not after everything. She couldn't let Cloud down, either. He needed her, and she him. Wiping her eyes finally with a brave smile, she stepped out of his arms and dusted herself down.

"We should head back. The party… We will be expected."

He nodded and stepped away and out of their embrace, his stature then suddenly a little awkward.

"I will… I will follow you down in a moment. Please, go ahead."

Supposing he was offering her the return journey to collect herself, she did not question him; instead, she bid him goodbye, before turning her back on the sun and on him, her boots thudding rhythmically as she began her quickened, downhill journey towards the Canyon.

She had just begun to worry when Vincent arrived back in the village an hour after sundown, as silent and impassive as ever.

The festival was going better than she had thought it would. The wine was flowing, the music loud, and she even found herself dancing for a while, in the arms of Cid or Barrett, somewhat inexpertly. Yet she had seen little of Cloud or Vincent. Both were no doubt pre-occupied with their respective broodings, and what with her emotions to worry about as well, she felt disinclined to seek them out.

Lying in the shared den room that night, listening to the symphony of snoring provided by Cid and Barrett, she wondered if he too, lay awake. Finally, she drifted off into a fitful slumber, all the while with the recollection of cool, strong fingers, laced with hers.

_-3 Days ago-_

Today was the day that they were all given the chance to turn back. When the words had left Cloud's mouth, she had almost wanted to punch him. Perhaps it was a little too late to be giving them the option to leave; they had already given so much to their cause, it was a surprise that any of them had anything left to give.

She glanced around at their group, at the Avalanche they had become. Cloud stood facing away from them, staring out of the glass and over the rolling pastures that surrounded the spot where the Highwind was temporarily docked. Cid was smoking as usual, leaning against a console next to Barrett, who was glaring at Cloud's turned back. Red XIII, seemingly unconcerned, sat washing himself before Vincent, who stood tall and impassive in the background. Yuffie was nursing her travel sickness, and Tifa sensed that her attention wasn't quite fully on the speech they had been subjected to. God only knows what Cait was thinking.

They were all there, following Cloud to the end; and yet she didn't discount that he still doubted himself. Perhaps she should be asking him if he was ready to see it through, because from where she was stood, he didn't look like a man who was ready. He looked like a man who was ready to accept the end.

That wasn't _her_ Cloud! That wasn't the man she followed, to the very ends of the earth, literally!

"Cloud, we are all with you to the end." She found herself saying, stepping closer to him. "There's really no need to ask."

He looks at her, cerulean eyes deeper than oceans penetrating her very being. She suppresses a shiver. "Please… I need to know… Is everything going to be alright? I need to hear you say it…" She was staring at her folded hands, worrying the leather straps of her fighting gloves.

"Tifa." He cupped her chin, lifting her face to look at him. "Everything is going to be alright."

She heard a few mumbles of discontent, before one set of footfalls carried away from the bridge.

-0_ Days ago_-

The night was still, a watery sunset crowning the horizon to the west, the Highwind a silhouette against the darkening backdrop of sky. A gentle breeze plucked at errant strands of her hair, and they drifted about her face in a most ethereal manner, catching on the moisture of her lips. Her eyes, amber like candlelight through whiskey bottles, stared unfocussed into the distance. Though she did not stand alone, for a moment she could have been the only woman left on earth.

"So this is it."

Cloud shattered the silence and she almost winced, arms crossed defensively across her upper body. Now that she thought about it, the breeze did hold a certain chill to it. She wished she'd thought to bring a coat or something. Oddly, her mind snapped to Vincent's cloak.

"It would seem that way."

She had asked to spend some time with him before the end, achingly aware of Vincent also remaining behind on the Highwind after they had taken everyone else home to their families. Cloud had asked if Vincent would like to go anywhere. The gunman had simply shook his head and turned away. He had no family to visit either. But he had to understand her reasons for wanting to be with Cloud. She didn't really see the need to be apologetic about it anymore.

Though as the hours shifted by, after near enough spelling it out to him… still, there was the crossed arms, the blank stare, and the uneasiness.

Cloud did not love her.

He cared, sure. But it felt like something close to betrayal after all this time she had been waiting to tell him. He loved her as a friend, nothing more. But it hurt that she had to draw that conclusion for herself.

"I'm going to go inside… its cold." She drew her arms across her body for emphasis, though she didn't really need to. There was no lie in her words- she was cold from the inside out, frozen solid. Her limbs felt heavy and useless, and her heart dead and empty.

He nodded curtly, still seated rigidly on the same rocky ledge. She sensed he would need a couple of hours with his own thoughts at least. Still, it only twisted the knife.

She dragged her heavy body towards the rope ladder, heaving herself up rung by rung as tears forced their way down her face. Why was this so hard to deal with? She had _seen_ it coming, after all. From the moment she had met Aeris, in the basement of that seedy mansion, in all her ethereal beauty, she had known it. Swathes of ash-coloured waves, emerald eyes that lit up the dark, and features of an angel… She was a fool to think Cloud would choose her instead.

The Highwind was creepy in the dark, shafts of moonlight piercing through the gloom in the corridors to light her way. Her footfalls clanked and echoed on steel walkways, carrying her towards the bridge. Peering out, she could see Cloud's motionless form, sat exactly where she had left him, his sword now lying at his feet, gleaming in the moonlight. Her heavy sigh steamed up the glass before her.

A distant sound permeating the silence made her suddenly remember Vincent. He would still be on the Highwind somewhere, and yet she didn't know if she could face him, afraid of what he might see in her face if she did. He would be able to see the falseness of her smile, the weakness in her façade.

Yet a week ago, she had shown him just that, hadn't she? Crying into his shirt as if she had known him for years, reaching out to touch his face, and wondering for a fraction of a second what it would be like to kiss that sensitive mouth…

She was a god damn fool.

His room was empty, and the ship stood silent. He had probably disembarked at some point in the night, rather than remain here alone; maybe to visit the eerie tomb of the women he once loved. _That_ was a subject they had never discussed, a boundary that she dared not cross.

Just like with another man and another dead woman she knew.

Closing her eyes, bathed in moonlight, she was back on the Wutai plains, charcoal in her hand and all of her attention fixed upon that single flickering lantern and the paper before her… yet _his_ attention had been fixated upon her. She remembered his sketch that he had given her, fixed so that the charcoal would not smudge. She also remembered the sketch she had given him, crumpled up from having used it to hit him with. They had laughed together that night, like friends would.

Stood in his room, void of any affects within sight, she wondered where it was. Her scroll was tucked neatly in her pack, a gift she had come to treasure. Pushing back her unease, she eyed the cabinet by his bedside and after a moment of building her courage, she reached for the drawer handle. He was most likely elsewhere, and would not return until morning.

Unless of course, he didn't plan on coming back at all…

The drawer was empty aside from a couple of spare bullets that rattled rudely as she shoved it shut again. The next she searched proved void also, though perhaps more promising. She found some charcoal pieces and a pencil rolling around inside.

Next, she crossed the room to the desk, seating herself at the creaky chair tentatively. The top drawer held within it what she had been looking for, and much more; The scroll concerned was present, amongst pencils, sketch pads and stacks of drawings, some of which were unfinished or discarded, if the crumples were anything to go by.

Leafing through them carefully, tenderly, she found sketches of landscapes, all of them familiar from their travels. She found scrawls that held no meaning at all, and she discovered more drawings of a figure, always alone, lost in thought, staring into the distance of a variety of backdrops. He had been drawing her for a while, it seemed. One image stalled her particularly; she recognised the backdrop of the forgotten city, where she was stood in defeat over a glimmering lake, all other figures blackened out by vigorous shading. Another depicted her staring into flames, possibly at the Cosmo canyon.

She was so intent studying the intricately drawn depictions of herself and trying to understand what the whole thing meant, to notice the soft footfalls out in the hallway past the wide open door that she had not thought to close.

"Tifa?"

She almost screamed, jerking up and out of her seat, palm flat over the pile that was evidence of her prying.

"Vincent?!"

He stood in the doorway, wearing no shoes and no shirt, white and ethereal in the moonlight, his metal arm glinting. He was staring at her, his expression blank and frustratingly unreadable. "I… I was just… I thought you weren't here." She babbled aimlessly, unaware that in her haste to wipe away her tears, she had smudged her cheeks with charcoal.

Still he said nothing, flicking his gaze to the ground, then back up to her face. "Vincent, I'm sorry."

He stepped forward at last, and she leant away to allow him to reach past her. He seemed to be examining the pile of drawings as if for the first time, his eyes empty and hollow.

"I drew these after Wutai, and this one after Cosmo Canyon." He picked up the latter sketch, taking it into his hands and crumpling the paper. She flinched at the sound. "I thought if I did, it would get the image of your sadness out of my thoughts." She sucked in her bottom lip, unable to tear her eyes away from his face. "I thought if I watched you tonight, I could be happy knowing you had the love you deserved. And yet… you come here. On the eve of the end of everything, you come here."

His eyes found hers, their bodies not inches apart, frozen in space. His hair looked damp, the tips of the ebony strands dripping moisture. Perhaps he had been in the showers all this time.

"I never told you what that man said to me, that night in Wutai." She withdrew slightly to consider him, wondering what could have brought that back to him, now of all times. "He asked me if we were lovers. When I told him no, he told me I would be a fool not to love a woman as beautiful as you."

She laughed, a gentle blush creeping up her neck.

"I want to explain-" _Oh Vincent, I want to explain everything. I hope you would understand what it feels like not to be loved in return._

"Tomorrow we go into the crater. It is your choice; stay, or go."

"There was never really an option not to, was there?" She whispered in reply, unable to move.

"Hm."

Their proximity was dizzying, and yet she could not force herself to move away. In one tender movement, before she could get her words out, he trailed the fingertips of his human hand along her collar bone and shoulder, before gathering up her hair, gently pulling it out of her face.

In one look, she knew. He felt something for her. More than friendship, yes, but exactly what, she couldn't say. She had not gotten that good at reading him. Smiling softly, he rubbed away the grey smudges of charcoal on her cheeks.

"Vincent, I don't understand." Her voice was barely audible, yet she didn't doubt he heard. "I… I don't know what to say."

"Please, say nothing." Her breath hitched in her throat at the cool touch of his fingertips, her inside contorting with confusion and guilt.

"Vincent, what are you doing?"

His wet hair was touching her face as he leant forward, his moth finding hers, his hands, one flesh and one metal, tenderly cupping her jaw. His kiss was hesitant at first, but then her traitorous lips parted, and he pressed their mouths together firmly.

_What am I doing_, She thought vaguely. Only moments ago she had been outside despairing for her unrequited love and now…

Now his mouth was warm against hers, his touch so gentle. Their lips moistened by fresh tears, and perhaps sensing her conflict, he pulled away slightly. Her palms had somehow flattened themselves against his chest, bracing her body against him. Gazing up at him, his image was blurry and unclear. She noted though, that his eyes were amber and gold.

"Don't…" She whispered, her voice trembling. "Please Vincent… don't. I can't."

"Tifa, I'm…. I'm sorry." He shook his head firmly, the fingertips of his flesh hand increasing their pressure on her shoulder. "I shouldn't have…"

"It's alright," She soothed, finding it easier than she thought possible to slip back into the role of the caring one. "There is truly nothing to forgive." Irises that had shifted back to the shade of deep wine she recognised glinted in the moonlight, boring right through her.

"You don't understand," He shook his head, raven locks tumbling about his face. "I am sorry for hoping that Cloud would at least be honest with you, so that I could… be with you, before the end. Before it's too late."

She swallowed, unsure of whether she should really be feeling angry right about now. Not much point, she told herself. She had long accepted that tomorrow would be their last day on this doomed planet.

"Maybe in another life, we will be together. Just… not this one." She felt tears force their way down her cheeks as she spoke, unable to look directly into his eyes any longer.

She remembered something her mother once told her, about finding love. There were two things that you needed for it to work; Chemistry, and timing. Sadly, there was no time left in which to allow whatever it was between them grow. She mourned the loss of what could have been.

"I understand. It was… too soon for you. Well somewhere, in some time… I will meet you there."

She smiled, worrying a loose thread in her shirt. "Yes. Then perhaps we can… work on being friends, someday."

"I will look forward to it."

"Goodnight, Vincent." She whispered, standing on her tip toes to kiss him upon his cheek, tenderly cupping his face to steady herself.

"Good bye, Tifa…"

_-1 day later-_

The fight had been furious, yet somehow- _somehow_- they had survived—all of them, part of that rag-tag band Avalanche, had defeated the planet's greatest threat. It was only a shame that they could do nothing to prevent meteor in the end.

Miraculously, the Highwind had enough life in her to carry them to Midgar on the main continent, where the ominous shadow of meteor was headed, and where Vincent and rest of the group were intending to wait out the end. Vincent's jaw was set, hidden behind his cape once more.

It felt like some awful joke. Why had they even gone to the trouble of defeating Sephiroth anyway, if _this_ was all that would be left to congratulate their victory?

His metal hand creaked as he balled it into a fist.

If the situation itself had not been so dire, he might have called the view outside of the Highwind's front window beautiful. Midgar was all black steel and flame, smouldering angrily and magnificently on the horizon.

Below, scores of creatures, monsters, chocobos and animals were all running south across the wildlands, all trying to escape meteors glare. When he looked carefully, there were also people, running from the surrounding villages no doubt, thinking that putting distance between themselves and meteor would somehow save them. Some of the monsters were turning on them, and helpless and afraid, they were being torn asunder without a fight.

"Vincent, where are you going?" Tifa's voice stopped him in his tracks. He half turned, reaching beneath the folds of his cloak and unholstering Death Penalty. He raised it to eye level, turning it this way and that, the angry glow of meteor reflecting in the black gunmetal.

"I think we should finish this journey how we started it." He cast a glance around the bridge, taking in the blank faces of his comrades. "Fighting." He answered himself, before turning and running along the metal gangways up to the bridge. He vaulted over the rails, landing with his metal arm braced to the ground, gun arm raised and ready.

Not moments later, another body dropped and landed by his side with a thud. He turned his head to acknowledge them.

"I can't just stand and wait for the end to come for me." Tifa told him, staring ahead and tugging on her fighting gloves for the last time. "I say we go and get it." Her face was illuminated by the red glow of the inferno in the skies, her hair given a fiery halo.

He gave a curt nod, his half-smile hidden behind his cowl. The monsters were thick and approaching fast. He readied his aim.

"I always hated that ship anyway," Yuffie landed at their sides, her shuriken glinting at all four points. "Now let's do this thing!" The young ninja arched back her arm then let her spinning blades fly, signalling the start of their final battle.

"I fuckin' heard that! N' don' think I won't find you in the afterlife or whatever n' beat the shit outta ya, cuz I WILL!" Cid joined the fray, his lancet swirling. His comments were lost amidst the quick fire of Vincent's bullets, and the flurry of Tifa's limbs as she threw herself into the midst of it all, fists and feet making contact and breaking bones with sickening cracks.

Singing blades, flying fists and gun fire was their final song, and they sang it well, tearing through the droves of monsters and advancing toward the doomed shadow of Midgar like moths drawn to a flame.

With only a stagger to disrupt his momentum, Vincent tore out of his body in the form of Chaos, a conduit for all his fury and frustration, not yet fully released. Tifa caught the flash of crimson as his cloak was left behind, a pool of fabric blood marring the wastes. Shutting the image out of her mind for the time being, she focussed her attention on her foes, swinging her weight around and driving forward with her fists, knocking down opponents like flies. Her limbs surged with the energy of her limit break, and she unleashed a flurry of fists upon her opponents, knocking them to the ground with sweeping kicks and somersaults.

Behind the now-advancing group, one last figure dropped to the ground from the Highwind deck, golden hair ruffled by a hot wind. "So it begins." Adjusting his shoulder brace, Cloud readied buster sword, setting off at a sprint towards his teammates, the tip trailing sparks as he ran. As he picked up speed, a line of flame trailed behind his sword point.

SOLDIER had a lot to answer for, but his power had come in useful in the end. His flesh had bled like any other mans in the crater, staining that perfect silver hair crimson.

Even Gods could bleed.

-0-

Vincent's return to his body was only a minor shock to the system compared with the heat; a searing heat that threatened to burn way flesh if he dared venture closer. It seemed that they had come as far as they were physically able, the inferno that was Midgar now long past aid. The city was burning, melting before their eyes like some overgrown candle. It seemed somewhat fitting that he should see Midgar die this way. Yet it did not feel so sweet.

Sweat was running down his limbs from the exertion of the fight. It seemed that they had run out of foes at last, and all of the other members of Avalanche reached a standstill at Vincent's side. His cape had been lost somewhere along the way; it didn't really matter now where it was. He wouldn't need it in the afterlife- _If_ such a thing existed, for him.

He found her stood to his right, her clothing blackened and torn. One shoulder was fully exposed, the fabric having come apart at some point in their battle, giving him a view of her exquisite bone structure. As her chest heaved with heavy breaths, he could track the progress of beads of sweat, sliding over her collar bones, and down and between her breasts.

Tifa Lockheart, the last sight he was going to see- and what a sight she made, even now.

As if she sensed his stare, her gaze snapped to his, silence lingering between them. "You are wounded."

He glanced down; sure enough, a deep cut marked his naked abdomen. No doubt he didn't sense the hot blood, mingled with already hot sweat. "Do you think I should get stitches?"

She laughed then; an awkward, spasmodic burst that she caught in her hand; though when he joined her, she felt it safe to continue. What did it matter if he was wounded? The world was going to end, starting right with the spot they were stood. It was hilarious actually, when he came to think about it.

"You're terrible."

"If you can't laugh about it now, you never will."

There they went again, laughing. It was all a sick joke. Even Cloud couldn't help but raise a brow at the irony of it all. Cid was choking, probably because of the smoke, and it all seemed so anti-climactic, stood on the edge of destruction with nothing to do but laugh.

"I'm sorry Vincent. We never really had the chance to be friends." She sobered herself, reaching out bruised and bloody hands to take his.

"Tifa. I am your friend, If… you could still be mine?" She gave one slow nod, that beautiful, angelic smile gracing her lips for the first time in a long while. He longed to kiss her, blood and dirt and sweat be damned.

"Tifa…" Cloud wanted to talk to her; Vincent supposed it was either now or never for them. Nodding in return, he let go of her hands, not daring to notice she clutched on tightly, as if resisting. He could let them have these final moments. He'd had his, after all.

"Lucrecia, forgive me." He muttered under his breath, turning his back to the destruction, and facing the plains. He could almost pretend it weren't there, save for the searing at his back.

_There is nothing to forgive._

"What's that?" Tifa's shout drew his attention. Eerie green swirling lights, spiralled out of the ground at their feet

Cloud watched idly as strings of the strange lights swirling about him, before beginning a sinusoidal journey upwards, towards the fires. Soon, more burst forth, arching to join their predecessors. Some convalesced, forming brighter, thicker beams. Still, they spiralled ever upward, gaining intensity.

"Lifestream?"

_-several days later-_

Everything was grey. The fires had long been extinguished, though the ruins still smouldered, sending up plumes of grey smoke into the air, visible for leagues around.

The gunslinger wandered, though not aimlessly. He knew it had to be here somewhere…

There! Trampled, torn, and heavy with the scent of blood and smoke: His cloak.

He picked it up, holding it at arm's length. It would no doubt need cleaning before he could wear it again.

"Oh, you found it." She was standing twenty feet away, her foot resting upon a boulder. She had bought new clothes since her last battle suit had been ruined. Something with more fabric. Most of it was black, too. She joked she was trying to copy his fashion sense.

"Doesn't look good though," He remarked, folding it over his arm. "At least it's not wet." At his words, the clouds rumbled above them. An omen of rain.

She raised a brow. "We'd better get moving." He nodded, following her the short walk back to the vehicle they had borrowed. Some old black pick up, with massive wheels, well suited to this terrain. "How come you wanted to find it so badly anyway?" She asked as she leant forward to insert the keys into the ignition. The truck roared to life in her hands, jerking forwards as she stepped on the accelerator. A little too vigorously, he felt.

"I… I don't know. I suppose it's symbolic, in a way."

"I like you better without it," She said softly, voice barely audible over the growl of the engine. They were on the road back to Kalm, and would reach the town where the rest of Avalanche were meeting in under an hours journey.

He wasn't sure why she had volunteered to drive all the way out here, just to look for his tattered cloak. He hadn't had the time alone with her since the Holy event. Perhaps, he was hoping, that was her reasoning.

"I'm not sure that Cid would agree, though."

"Ah. But I'm not Cid, am I?"

"Thank the gods, no."

She chuckled, just as the heavens finally opened, and rain began to lash against the windscreen. "It's… strange, still being here, isn't it?"

He glanced up from his folded hands, a brow raised. "Very. I'm still not really sure what happened."

It had all happened in a blinding glow of white and searing heat. It was all they could do to run from the falling rubble and flaming debris, back to the safety of the Highwind, a mile or so away. Then instead of the end, came a grey watery sky. But it was so much more than that; it was a promise of a new start.

He remembered her words, _Maybe in another life, we will be together_, and wondered if she really meant it. After all, wasn't this second chance, in effect, another life? He also wondered who would be brave enough to mention the subject first. At least she wasn't avoiding him, or making things awkward for him.

"I guess the planet wasn't ready to die," She commented, leaning forward to try and view the road better. The windscreen wipers were working at full speed, and yet did little to deter the onslaught of rain from obscuring her vision.

"On that note, neither am I. Maybe we should wait out the shower, so you can see where you are going."

"I'd hardly call this a shower—and was that some kind of dig at my driving, Valentine?" She pulled over anyway, somewhere in the middle of nothing. They hadn't yet reached the road, from what he could tell anyway, and Kalm wasn't going to go anywhere. They might as well take their time heading back safely and in once piece.

At least, that was the reason why he was stalling, he kept telling himself.

"Ahhh…" Tifa groaned, resting her forehead on the steering wheel. "It's been one hell of a ride, hasn't it? These past few months I mean. And now here we are, off to Kalm for a reunion, and then… well, off for a well-deserved holiday. It's crazy."

"There's one word you could use to describe it," He chuckled, deep baritone rumbling in his chest. "Will you… do you plan to join Cloud in Midgar in the coming months?" He tried to keep his tone nonchalant.

"I don't know," She picked at her nails consciously. "I suppose I've not really thought about it. Part of me wants to go, but I think… I think it would be best if I left him alone for a while. He needs some time to… come to terms with everything."

"And what will you do instead?" He was staring rather intently, and he couldn't dislodge the lump from his throat.

"I don't have any plans, per se. Did you have any ideas?"

"Me?"

"I assume that's why you were… asking about my plans; you have something in store for me?"

He was blushing, god damn it! Where was his cloak when he needed to hide behind it, for once? "Well, no. I hadn't really thought about it."

"Well you'd better start thinking."

"I'm sorry?"

She turned in her seat, the silence punctuated by the drum of heavy raindrops on the roof of the truck. "In a few weeks, I will have no plans to tie me to one place. I have no permanent residence, and no other offers have been made. And besides, I thought you wanted to work on being friends?"

He opened his mouth once and then closed it again, bathing in the glow from her beautiful smile. "I had hoped that… that could be possible."

"Well, it is possible. So get thinking, Valentine, and—oh would you look at that, its stopped raining! Just like that huh?"

He had gotten so used to listening to the rap-rap of the drops against the window that he wondered how he couldn't have noticed it. Then again, there was Tifa, and her glorious offer…

Her offer for that second chance he had been hoping for.

-0-

A/N: I've been struggling with an ending for this series/chapter. I wasn't feeling it at time of writing, and went back and made some changes, then ended up writing an extra 2,000 words or so. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed reading, and haven't been waiting too long for an update! There might be another part to come, I'm not sure yet. Keep an eye on it, and as always, please leave me some feedback!

(Updated March 2013)


	4. Epilogue: Characters

Well, I've wanted to write a finale for this microcosm of mine for some time. I got this idea in my head, and I wrote most of this in one day. I hope you like it, any comments are greatly appreciated.

JJ, March 2013

-0-

**Epilogue: Characters**

He looked so beautiful in the moonlight; a man in monochrome, a blend of darkness and light so perfect and tangible…

She recalled with flawless clarity how he had kissed her, how his body had pressed against hers. She knew exactly what he desired, though various signals, physical or otherwise, and despite the yearnings of her own body, she had turned him down.

Her palms pressed against his chest, pushing him away. She was resolute; she loved someone else, and it would be dishonest to sleep with Vincent under false pretences. No doubt she was attracted; her lips had parted to admit him, begging him to just deepen the kiss, to tear away her resistance…

Vincent wasn't that kind of man.

And she wasn't that girl.

Six weeks on from that night, in a world that was struggling to get back its breath, she wonders if that moment could be recreated without the pressures that had existed before. She had come to terms somewhat with her broken heart and had spent some time in Vincent's company, as she had bid him to. The curiosity was still there, no doubt, yet the fire was gone, perhaps no longer fanned by the urgency of an impending apocalypse.

She spent some time contemplating this conundrum. Vincent was no longer pressured into acting on his feelings; there was no 'one last chance' anymore. They had all the nights in the world, it seemed.

That's what worried her.

She suggested that they return to Wutai with Yuffie; now that she had the luxury of time and freedom, she wanted to explore the Vermillion Kingdom some more, suggesting sweetly that Vincent be her guide, if he had nowhere else to be.

He had nodded curtly, acceding to the fact that indeed, he did have nowhere else to be, and would be happy to show her around. The request was lost on Yuffie of course; why couldn't she show her around? Tifa only smiled. Yuffie had much else to be worrying about now, what with starting off the material trade in Wutai again. She wouldn't have the time.

That seemed enough to distract the young Ninja from Tifa's true agenda.

-0-

Surprising how much you could buy with your gil these days. She grinned in spite of herself, shielding her eyes as she squinted at the long path meandering through what would have once been a carefully manicured garden. This was her new residence; complete with Koi pond and moon viewing Pavilion—whatever that was.

"It's got a great view of the mountains," Vincent remarked from behind her, setting down his armful of bags. She turned to look behind her, appreciated the view that Vincent alluded to. Her Wutai home was a short walk from the pagoda square, surrounded by tall spruce trees. The scent was wonderful.

"Thanks for helping me with my things," She threaded her arm through his, leaning against him as they absorbed their surroundings. She had rather suddenly decided that buying a house here would be her next move, upon finding out that this property was for sale. She had quite fallen in love with it.

"Anytime." He shifts beside her, perhaps uncomfortably, she wasn't sure. "Perhaps I should um…" She smiled as he slipped out of her grasp and began a walk around the perimeter of her estate, appraising the roof, the rain spouts and the footings of the building.

She left him to it, ladening her arms with her belongings and more recent purchases before heading towards the main entrance of the house. The heavy door slid open with a persistent shove, the wooden grooves swollen a little. The matting seemed in good condition at first appraisal, though she could smell damp leaf litter. Indeed, the house had stood empty for some time, and showed signs of needing repair.

Still, she smiled softly to herself, rolling up her sleeves and walking through the bright, barren rooms, throwing open the screen doors to allow air and sunlight to penetrate the rooms. This space was hers now, and she could do anything she wanted with it.

The rest of her life started now.

-0-

Several days they spent repairing the roofing, and the drainage, in lieu of the rain season approaching. Wiping sweat from her brow as she toiled under the high midday sun, she wished for a sudden bout of rain to bring her some reprieve.

Vincent had recruited some help in getting the water heating problems fixed, and he emerged victorious one afternoon, sweating and covered in oil, to announce that the boiler was fixed. She thought that perhaps it was a little too soon into their venture to suggest him joining her for a well-deserved soak.

The moon viewing pavilion of her house was an area of decking outside one of the sleeping chambers, well positioned to sit out and view the heavens in all their splendour. She and Vincent had scrubbed the weather-beaten wood and stained it afresh, a task taking several days of arduous labour. She had headed out to market one day and returned with several plush cushions on which to sit. Each night, she took to setting them out after preparing a pot of Wutaiin tea. They sipped at their porcelain cups in relative silence.

Slowly, it was coming together. She had procured some furniture for the rooms, and it arrived piece by piece, slowly bringing some substance to her home.

Vincent hung what he called 'rain chimes' at the eaves of her house, and told her it was considered good luck. She had chuckled, questioning his superstitions. "It's tradition. Everyone in Wutai will perform certain rituals when moving into a new home, to ensure it is auspicious." He half shrugged, prodding the dangling metal chimes. They hummed pleasantly, chiming out gentle, soothing notes.

"What else do you have to do—you know, to make sure your house is—auspicious?"

"Well, some people will hang scrolls in their house bearing calligraphy. A Wutaiin character can be made up of any number of strokes, but depending on the year, or perhaps what luck you wish to be bestowed upon you, you must chose a character with a certain number of strokes." She blinked once, then again. "I see I have lost you. Well… are you busy tonight?"

She smiled, tucking hair behind her ears. "Of course not."

"I will bring some things over later on, then. We can make one."

"You have forgotten how bad I am at drawing, right?" She calls after his retreating back, hands on her hips.

"Calligraphy is different." He shouts back over his shoulder.

"We'll see!"

-0-

Vincent had been staying up at the Kisaragi estate- something about not wanting to impose himself upon her. After all, it was her house, and although he had kindly offered to help her with the manual tasks involved in bringing the place to order, he didn't expect that she would want him around in the evenings. Of course, she had never declined an opportunity to spend time with him as of yet.

Several hours after sundown he was sliding open the entrance door after a polite tap, rolls of rice paper under his arm along with a few packages bound in brown paper and string.

The main room that she used in the evenings for eating contained a low table which she and any guests would sit around, though tonight she had moved it to one side of the room to allow maximal floor space. The room was lit by kerosene lamps; they had not quite gotten around to fitting electric lighting yet.

He left his shoes outside the door, as was customary in any Wutaiin home, and crossed the room with his burdens.

"Well, this looks exciting!" she exclaimed, taking the packages from his arms and seating herself cross legged on the floor. She politely offered him tea, of which he gratefully accepted a cup.

"This isn't tea," He remarked, sniffing at the hot liquid.

"Did I say tea? I meant hot sake!" She winked, draining a cup of her own.

"Hm. If I didn't know any better, I would say that you were trying your best to level the playing field, Ms Lockheart."

"You know me too well. Let's get started shall we?"

-0-

"You're supposed to get the ink on the paper," He remarked dryly, glancing up from his roll of rice paper, brush poised expertly over it. With the sleeves of his Wutaiin shirt rolled up, the collar done up, he looked quite scholarly.

She scowled at him in response, grimacing at the ink splodges on the heel on her hand that had somehow made it to her face. "I don't know why I bother with these things," She blew hair from her face, rather than try and move it with her hands again. "I am absolutely useless." She cast her eyes intermittently to a reference sheet that he had drawn for her, detailing several basic Wutaiin characters and what they meant. Currently she had tried and failed with the characters for 'happiness', 'wealth' and 'prosperity'.

He chuckled, rapidly tracing out a complex Wutainese character with his brush before setting it aside. He set his scroll aside to dry. His calligraphy was elegant and beautiful, as she had expected. "Come here."

"Why?"

"Just trust me," He urged, beckoning her to come closer.

"You know, you look as if you've tanned out there this past week," She shuffled towards him on her knees, trying not to touch anything with her inky palms.

"Thankfully. I thought I would never get rid of that 'I've just crawled out of a coffin' look." He rolled his eyes, while she giggled. "You, meanwhile, look as if you have been rolling in that ink." He reached out tenderly to wipe away the smudges of ink, though for all his efforts, it only got worse.

"I told you I was hopeless," she peers up at him through her lashes.

"It's only going to come out in the bath," He remarked, letting his hands fall back to his side.

"Is that so?" She considers her options and their situation carefully. Maybe, just maybe… She plucks the forgotten brush from the ink pot at his side, daubing it in the ink before gripping his flesh forearm tightly. "Maybe I just needed a more… versatile canvas to work with."

He raised a brow, though made no move to pull away from her as she sets the tip of the brush to the outside of his forearm. She lets its glide upwards in the stroke that he taught her, before lifting the brush away to carry out the next stroke.

_All characters are made up of a number of strokes, meaning each one must be executed in a single line, a movement of the wrist._

Her tongue pressed against her teeth as she concentrated, she didn't notice his gaze appraising her thoughtfully. "There! How is that?"

"Hm…" He raised his wrist to eye level. "Not bad, actually. Though it needs a little work. The third stroke looks a little wobbly. It could say 'Fork' instead of 'hope', for all I know."

"Ok, ok, let me try again. I'll try the symbol for 'wisdom'." She turns the arm over to expose the tender underside, re-whetting her brush before resting the tip against his skin, beginning the first stroke, more of a curve than a line. Messing up once, she moved onto his other arm, producing a more passable character on her second attempt there.

"How is that?" She asks a few moments later, eyes wide and hopeful.

"It's… an improvement." He tells her cautiously, turning both arms to compare the progression of her characters.

"Let me try again, please?" She begged.

She realised their predicament the second these words left his lips: "We're running out of skin."

Her mouth opens, and then closes again as he reached for the buttons of his shirt. If she had entertained any doubts about the fire no longer burning, well… consider the flames fanned.

In the light from the lanterns, his skin was gold, subtle shade hinting at the curve of muscle. "W-where should I…?" The brush is raised, though her boldness is gone for the moment. If he knew, he gave nothing away. Muscular shoulders, sculpted arms, intriguing dips and shading at the taper of his waist…

"Wherever you want," He shuffled around, sitting cross legged with his back toward her. Well, at least she would be able to hide her blush, for the moment.

She sets to work on her latest character, trailing a black line from the apex of one shoulder blade to the indentation of his spine. His skin was warm against her palm, placed on the opposite shoulder to steady herself. He remained perfectly still. She paused, forgetting what she was attempting to create, using his body as her canvas; she glanced down at the scroll upon which he had expertly laid out the examples she had been following. Looking back to hers, it was almost laughable how poor her attempts were. He had to know that.

He had to.

"I… I can't do this, Vincent." She lets her hands drop to her sides, disappointed. He sure knew how to make her lose her concentration.

"Then perhaps it's my turn," He half- pivots around to consider her, and she feels the heat creeping up her neck.

She says nothing, instead allowing him to manoeuvre her around to sit with her back to him. She almost gasps aloud as his fingertips brush her waist, griping the hem of her shirt and lifting it up and away from her skin. She raised her arms mindlessly to aid him, cool air assaulting her body. He then mumbled a brief apology before undoing the catch of her bra. It slips from her shoulders of its own accord. She bites on her lower lip, anticipation gnawing in the pit of her stomach. Fingertip drag across her scalp sending little jolts through her body, as he gathers up her hair into a messy bun exposing more flesh for him to work with.

She is half naked in front of him, sitting tall and straight and frozen in anticipation, one arm covering her breasts. His fingertips brush her spine, his canvas.

Where her characters had been large and sprawling, his were small and intricate. He began on the left at the crest of her shoulder, slowly working his way down with tiny, controlled brush strokes. She didn't know how long she was sat there, though afterward she could not recall if she breathed during the whole exchange. Her heart was in her mouth, her skin raised in goosebumps; braille he must be able to read by now.

Outside, her rain chimes start to sing softly; rain patters against the roof soothingly, cooling the humid air.

"What characters did you write?" Not daring to speak louder than a whisper.

"It's a poem," He leans in closer, completing a complex character at the dip of her waist. His warm breath against her skin sends a tremor across her body. "_A bright moon rises over the sea; Shores apart, watching the same, Is someone dear to me. I loathe this endless night and could not sleep but think of thee._"

"Is there more?"

"I'm almost done…" He mumbled, the trajectory of his writing now taking him into the curve of her hip. "_I wish to offer you moonlight in a handful, but to my real shame it's impossible. Retiring to my bed it seems… I might find happier days in dreams._"

"It's beautiful," She breathes, conscious that he had finally stopped in his writing.

"It was a poem on my mind that night… not so long ago."

"I remember it well."

"Hm."

"I want to finish my character," She stated resolutely, raising up on her knees and turning around to face him once again. He purposefully avoids looking at her, modesty spared only by one arm draped across her upper body. She takes the brush from his hand and scoots closer, setting the tip to the centre of his chest. She performed each of the ten strokes, creating a legible character for 'trust'.

"You can look," She adds, setting the brush aside, and folding her palms in her lap.

He lowered his eyes to his midriff, noting the character's legibility, before noticing what she had really meant. She is exquisite. He can just make out the first characters of his poem at the top of her shoulders from the front, tendrils of hair escaping his makeshift bun. Full breasts are bisected by a faint but prominent arc- the scar from her encounter with Sephiroth. She raises a hand to cover it, though he takes her wrist delicately between trembling fingers. There would be no hiding tonight.

He lowers her to the matting, mouth finding hers instantly, stomach clenching as she hungrily accepts him; lips parting, hot and wanting, her tongue darting out to taste him. The sensation of her breasts against his body was almost too much to bear; he longed to kiss her everywhere, kisses moving to her throat, using tongue and teeth to abuse the skin. Her fingers knot it his hair, forcing him lower- A bite at her breast and her back arches, the hollow of her stomach enticing him lower. He reaches her hips, gently nibbling at the flesh there- Does he go further?- a glance up at her reveals that she is far gone and showing no signs of resisting him.

He undoes her jeans and pulls, pupils dilating at the sight of black lace…

Her body seems to sink into the matting at his touch, tongue and teeth exploring parts of her that she had forgotten felt so good to be touched in the way he was touching her now… His mouth found her most sensitive spots, and it was all she could do to keep him there, fingers locked in his hair, her hips grinding into him.

As she climaxed, sounds passing her lips that she had never made before, he returned to kiss her lips, his expression setting her insides afire. His eyes were wild with want, and she would give him whatever he silently begged of her...

She pushed him back to the floor, aware that they were probably crushing the usable scrolls they had created earlier. Dragging her palm down his chest, the still-drying ink smeared across flawless skin. Groaning as she grips him firmly in her hand, his skull makes contact with the matting with a thud, years of tension dissipating under her wondrous touch.

No, no delay. He would not wait for her any longer.

Hands guide her astride him, and seconds stretch impossibly in the moment their bodies join. Sweat glides from the nape of her neck along the curve of her spine. The lines eventually run black, erasing the verse that had been inscribed upon her flesh. Clutching hands come away stained, only to leave their mark elsewhere.

They made love well into the night; the rain chime singing softly as the first of the autumn rains fell.

Later, they lay still, breathing together in the quiet. Around them lay scrolls of rice paper, one bearing an inky handprint, while another bore a near perfect transfer of the first half of the poem written on her back. "I think I might hang this on the wall, you know…" They lie on their backs, appraising the paper she holds aloft. "This one says...?"

He traces the characters with blackened fingers. "_Friendship, trust _and _ love._ Not sure what the handprint is supposed to represent, though…_"_

"Hm. Perfect." She tossed the paper aside, burying her face in his neck as she laughed. "I think it's the symbol of passion."

"In this case, I suppose it is." He chuckled, drawing her body tight against him.

"We should probably take a bath and get rid of all this ink." She remarks, trailing her fingers over the smears on his chest, though apparently unwilling to move. "I… I enjoyed tonight," She admits, squeezing him a little. "I guess it was a long time coming, huh?"

"Thank you for inviting me over. Though you do realise that you are going to have trouble getting rid of me now?"

"I have no problem with that."

He kissed the tip of her nose before they released one another, sitting upright and searching for discarded garments.

She half dresses, slipping on underwear and her shirt before heading outside into the rain, towards the adjoining bathhouse.

He huffs a breath when she is gone, glancing down at himself before dressing again. Who knew something as innocent and perceptibly dull as calligraphy could turn out to be so… erotic? He chuckled to himself as he gathered up the scrolls and set them to one side, amazed that in all their activity, they hadn't managed to upset the inkpot.

He set the scroll into the hanging frame he had brought, hooking it on the Southern wall of the room. He stepped back to appraise his work just as Tifa re-entered the room smelling of hot coals and jasmine.

"Ready to wash this ink off?" She slips her arms around his waist, nodding to the scroll now hung on the wall. "Looks good—does this mean the house is auspicious now?"

"Something like that. There is one small problem though. Either you replace the matting or move the table permanently, because I think that inky handprints of two different sizes are going to be a lot harder to explain to visitors than the one on the scroll."

-0-

Fin.

JJ


End file.
